


I'm not calling you a liar

by Del (goddessdel)



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), The Diary of River Song (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Post-Episode: 2015 Xmas The Husbands of River Song, river song secret santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 06:39:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15164840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessdel/pseuds/Del
Summary: The Doctor takes her to a truth field.





	I'm not calling you a liar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hegaveallhecouldgiveher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hegaveallhecouldgiveher/gifts).



> Written: 6/7/18 - 7/1/18
> 
> An incredibly, horrifically belated River Song Secret Santa gift for **hegaveallhecouldgiveher** : I'm so sorry, sweetie; all I can say is that your wishlist inspired so many fics that will be slowly trickling out for you when my muse cooperates and actually bloody finishes them! I hope this first offering somewhat lives up to its promise.
> 
> Takes place immediately following THORS.
> 
> Title from the Florence + the Machine song of the same name.
> 
> Thanks to Beverly and Bree for looking this over; all remaining mistakes are mine and my kindle's. See, promise I'm writing and not dead!

The Doctor takes her to a truth field.  


"River Song, I love you." Are the first words out of his mouth, gruff and serious before a giddy grin splits his face. "Now, ask whatever you need to get this foolish notion out of your head that I don't." He throws his arms wide, all confidence. "I'm an open book."  
  
Caught out of sorts, River focuses on his last statement and arches one eyebrow. "Since when?"  


If she expects him to duck his head or shy away from the question, the Doctor doesn't do anything of the sort, his tone steady and his eyes locked on hers. "Since we're finally linear. I've never lied to you, River. And I've loved you for lifetimes - at least three that I remember, but I suspect a good deal more than that."  
  
"Spoilers!" She manages from long practice, though the truth aches to spill from her lips.  


The Doctor shakes his head. "No, no. None of that, now. I'm against that word."  
  
And she knows it's true.  
  
She feels dizzy, from the field or the truth, she can't tell. Her life has always been carefully crafted out of lies; she's not sure what's left without them. "You can't just be against a word."  
  
The Doctor huffs, large hands surprisingly gentle at her shoulders, steadying her. There are calluses on his fingertips. "No running away this time, River. I love you. Do you know that?"  
  
"I - I think so." The words trip out of her mouth, honest and entirely against her will.  
  
His eyes are terribly kind. "Not good enough. I love you more than I think I've ever loved anything else in the universe. I'd stand still for you, River. I'd abandon the TARDIS. I'd do - well, there's probably nothing I wouldn't do for you. Did you wonder why I never said the words before? I was running away from that singular fact: there's nothing you could ask or say or do that would stop me loving you."  
  
"Surely - you can't mean that. You don't know what you're saying." There are tears in her eyes, but he is staring at her so earnestly, begging her to believe him, that she can't stand it but she can't look away.  
  
"Nothing, River. It's not possible. "  
  
"You don't know -"  
  
"I know you." He shrugs, as though it were that easy. "And you know me. What could possibly be so bad that I, of all people, couldn't forgive you?"  
  
"I love you," River gasps out, like it might be weakness to admit it. Out loud. To him. No secrets or flirtation to soften the raw truth. "But I'd let the rest of the universe burn."  
  
"I know. I still love you."

It's not enough. Not to believe him; not to stop the words spilling across her lips. "I might ask you to. If it meant saving you."

"I _know_." And then into the weighed silence of that terrible truth, "And I'd burn it myself to save you."  


River doesn't say that she knows because it's obvious; after all, he's done it before. "Don't say that."

The Doctor shrugs, the gesture weary but not embarrassed. "It's true."

It probably is. She does know him, after all. But she also knows just how good a liar he is. And even here, there's no easy way to prove he's telling the full truth, that he hasn't found some way to subvert or twist the field by speaking of hypotheticals that are easy to misconstrue or romanticize. "Tell me something else that must be true."  
  
The Doctor immediately looks wary. "Like what? What will convince you?"  
  
Something he'd never tell her. "Have you seen me die?"  


He looks so wounded that she wishes she'd never asked. It's too late to take it back - she can feel the question sitting, heavy between them.  
  
The Doctor seems to fold in on himself. He sighs an agreement, his eyes ancient pools. "Will you believe me then?"  


She considers. "Yes." Wonders if she's lying.  
  
"Yes."  
  
There's no question what he's answering. River sucks in a tight breath at the confirmation, feeling weightless and unanchored again. "And you know when."  
  
His eyes are begging her to stop asking these things. The last spoilers between them. But he's the one who started this, who dragged her to a truth field to finally profess his love after so many years. He ducks his head, unable to meet her eyes. "Yes."  
  
She does stop then. Doesn't think she can bear to ask him when and have him confirm the terrible, clawing knowledge that it must be soon. She's known that for ages now. Best not to have an exact date. She'll just keep living every day like it's her last. After all, she's never known any other way to live.  
  
"It breaks my hearts. I don't know how I'll stand to go on without you."

_I'd burn it myself to save you._

She wonders if he's planning to. Or just planning on burning himself.  
  
With that echo repeating in her head, River hastens to soothe the already broken sound of his voice, to douse whatever fire one of them may have set before it engulfs them. "Oh, my love, you'll -"  
  
"No. I won't."  


There's a finality about it. Especially here. He doesn't want her platitudes and reassurances.  
  
He wants her honesty.  
  
River isn't sure if she'll survive it.  
  
"I never planned on surviving you," River admits, slowly and carefully. "I'm glad I won't have to. I wouldn't be able to withstand it."

The Doctor makes a pained sound, tucking her closer, as though the circle of his arms can protect her from death itself. "Oh River."

He means to comfort her, but there's really no need. She accepted her own inevitable death as soon as she understood the word. She's never had the delusions of infinity that plague most Time Lords. She's always been finite.

So long as the Doctor goes on, it'll have been worth it. Her own version of her legacy. One last two fingered salute to the Silence and how they raised her. It's enough... or almost enough. It _ought_ to be enough.  
  
"Did you ever want children... with me, I mean?" It bursts out entirely against her will, and River shuts her eyes against the answer, hating herself for asking. For always needing more from him than he can give. For it never being enough.

In the moment it takes him to reply, the quiet is deafening.

"I... I never considered it. I don't think it would be possible and if it were... I'm not sure I could stand to do that all over again. To love them and lose them and just keep carrying on. Not _our_ child. It would be like..." He deflates, anguished, and then forces himself to finish his thought, the words barely more than a whisper, "like losing you all over again."  
  
He'd never considered it. She shouldn't be surprised - she'd known as much - but River still finds herself reeling from the hits that come with sudden honesty in a marriage built on lies.  
  
"Did you?"  
  
Despite all her best instincts, River feels compelled to answer honestly. Not just because of the truth field but because they ought to have had this conversation decades ago. "Yes."  
  
She hears the Doctor suck in a breath and wonders when she closed her eyes. "I never realized - I should've - _River_ -"  
  
She cuts off his explanation before he can apologize for something that can't be changed. "I know that it's ridiculous and impractical and probably impossible and... it's not all the time. If I'd been certain, I would've -" she cuts herself off, afraid of the rest of that sentence: _done it anyway, done it without him?_ She doesn't want to contemplate even more of her life without him, and he'd never forgive her something like that. A child, without him. No. She didn't want that. Wasn't even sure she wanted one at all, most days.  
  
The silence is choked with all the truths neither of them are willing to say. River keeps her eyes shut, concentrating on trying to ground herself with her breathing, not wanting to see the hurt in the Doctor's eyes. There was a reason honesty never suited either of them. What was he thinking, bringing them here?  
  
"I could - we could... try... now, if you wanted." It's the last thing she expects him to say.  
  
River's eyes snap open to find him fighting back a ridiculous grin, even as worry ceases his considerable brows. "It's a terrible idea. Us as parents." She doesn't know which of them she's trying to convince.  
  
"Yes," the Doctor agrees, but it sounds like encouragement.  
  
"Why?" She's dimly aware that he's still holding her, that he hasn't let go of her once since they arrived.  
  
He might be the only thing holding her up.  
  
Some trained assassin she is. A tiny truth field with her husband and she's weak in the knees.  
  
"Because you're my wife and I love you, River. I want you to be happy. I want _us_ to be happy."  
  
He says it like it's so simple, so obvious, when they both know it's anything but.  
  
"Am I, truly?"  
  
His brow furrows, as it is wont to do. "Are you what?"  
  
"Your wife. I know we bandy about the words, flirting." The Doctor physically recoils, though his hands only tighten around her as he steadies himself. "Do you mean it?"  
  
"Mean it!? Of course I bloody well mean it, wife. I _married_ you."  
  
River lifts one eyebrow, finally giving voice to that key addendum: "To save the universe."  
  
The Doctor practically growls, his confusion giving way to something that isn't quite anger, but isn't _not_. "Bollocks. Is that what you've told yourself all these years? Come on, River, you're smarter than that. Or have I just been that rubbish of a husband?"  
  
She doesn't let herself get distracted by his outburst, choosing her words carefully; he wanted the truth, and she needs to know, without any doubts, especially with everything he's already said. "I just... wondered sometimes."  
  
"Wondered what? If we were really married? If I truly loved you? Because I must've been utter shite if you could not know." The Doctor can't disguise the hurt and self-disgust in his voice.  
  
"Wondered if I was taking things more seriously than you meant them. If it was all just... a bit of fun."  
  
The Doctor chokes. "A bit of fun?!" He sobers quickly, so serious that it's impossible to look away. "River Song, I married you because I couldn't imagine not. Because I wanted to spend the rest of my lives with you. Because I love you. Not to save the universe or whatever other rubbish you've come up with to make it not matter. It _matters_ , River. _You_ matter. To me. And that hasn't changed in all the years before or after our wedding, not for me. I love you as much in this body as I did in my last, as I _always_ will. You're a constant of me. And I should've told you this when we got married the first time, but we were a bit rushed, if you recall."  
  
He tucks her more tightly into his arms, so close that she can feel the beats of his hearts echoing hers in a steady, comforting rhythm that feels like coming home.  
  
All she can think to do is offer a weak, token protest, her head spinning with the Doctor's declarations. With his certainty. "Your seventh self didn't seem all that fond of me."  
  
The Doctor matches her tone and arched brow, a smile curling at the edges of his lips. "Of course he was; why do you think he was so cross?"  
  
"I love you too, you know. All of you."  
  
"I _know_."  
  
His grin is brilliant.


End file.
